


Pillow Fight

by paperbackwriterfromnowhere



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbackwriterfromnowhere/pseuds/paperbackwriterfromnowhere
Summary: Paul playfully chastises John for yet another stupid thing he's done.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonedlennon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedlennon/gifts).



> written as a prompt challenge by the lovely and beautiful @stonedlennon on tumblr! the idea was to write a oneshot in half an hour using a randomly generated sentence as inspiration. so... here is this thing!!

“The pen hadn’t been worth stealing.”

“Yeah, but ye bloody stole it anyway, didn’t ye?” Paul asked.

“I didn’t know they were serious about bein’ a mob!” John exclaimed.

“Why’d ye steal it anyway? There wasn’t anything better ye could’ve taken?” 

John’s eyes rolled as he laid on the bed, punching Paul’s thigh playfully. “Thank Christ I didn’t, we’d be lookin’ at a lot more than owin’ money.”

“Maybe they’d take a kiss instead,” Paul teased, scrunching his nose slightly at John. 

John tried to be angry, but he couldn’t stay mad at him, not with a face like that. “You’re a fuckin’ twat.”

“Me? You stole a fuckin’ pen from the bloody mob!”

John replied by simply grabbing his pillow and throwing it at Paul’s face with a laugh. Paul caught it just as it slammed into his face and he let out a laugh that seemed to echo slightly on the much too close walls of the Bambi Kino as he hit John back with the pillow. This reminded him far too much of the old days when things were much simpler between them. In other words, when Stu wasn’t around. When it was just them. When they’d sit eyeball to eyeball and write music and laugh and press their lips together under the guise of _experimentation_ , but both of them knew it was so much more than that. It was never just that, ever. 

They wrestled with the pillow and for control for a few moments, John easily dominating Paul, pinning him to the bed with a laugh. Without thinking (or hesitation), he pressed a soft kiss to Paul’s lips, pulling back a bit startled at himself (as they hadn’t done this particular thing in… how long _had_ it been? He couldn’t recall…). Hiis mind immediately wandered to the way they used to spend their nights and when he’d sneak into Paul’s house late at night. Those nights he spent at Forthlin, tangled in Paul were his favourite, and he couldn’t really be sure what the hell had happened since. Whatever they were now, it wasn’t what it used to be. 

But, oh god, did John want that again. 

_But he wanted Stu, too._

Pushing all these deep thoughts aside for now, John chose to focus on Paul, laughing, “Yer gonna have to do better than a pillow fight if ye wanna woo me, son.”

He was all smiles, though, and both he and Paul knew Paul had to do little more than smile at John to woo him for the next hundred years. 

“Whatever ye say, Johnny.”

“Let’s fuck off the show tonight.”

“We can’t do that, you know we can’t,” Paul protested, pouting his lips out. While it was hell on earth, he still loved every minute they performed together. There was an electricity and an intimacy on the stage that rivaled _other_ forms of the same that he couldn’t live without.

“C’mon. We could! Find a couple of blokes who can play a tea chest bass and a washboard to stand in,” John laughed.

Paul chuckled, too, “No, Johnny, we can’t… they’re expectin’ us t’go on! We can’t leave ‘em like that…”

“You’re no fun, McCharmley,” John pouted, pulling the pillow over his face this time dramatically.

Paul bopped the pillow with the palm of his hand, still chuckling as a white feather floated down, landing on his own thigh. John, while frustrating, was equally adorable, and he knew that he was angry under that pillow, but he also knew that John loved to make a scene, his forte. Paul fell back on the bed, one arm draped over his face with a loud, heavy sigh. “Oh, how I wish poor little Paulie would do what I say!” he mocked. John threw the pillow at Paul once again, this time, he caught it. “I’m so sad he won’t skip the show with me! Whatever shall I do?” he laughed.

“Fuck off, Paul.”

“I’d rather fuck you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Paulie.”

“Who’s promisin’?”

“You should.”

“Should I?”

“Aye…” John said, voice lowering as he propped himself up on an elbow to better see Paul, who mirrored him as always.

“Hmm…” Paul said, biting his lip, looking at John, letting his eyes fall to those lips he knew so well. “I’ll go with maybe.”

With a huff, John lay back down, turning away from Paul. “Wake me up when it’s fuckin’ show time.”

“Oh, so you’re going on, then?”

“If you are.”

“I’ll wake you up.”

Paul set the alarm clock and curled up in the other bed since the others were out doing God knows what. He didn’t sleep a wink, but he watched John, who was dreaming of those nights he spent at Forthlin with Paul-- things would be back to normal soon. At least… he hoped so.


End file.
